


Serenade for Two

by arcadenemesis



Series: Of Glass Hearts & Gold [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Am I Really Tagging This??, Background Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Background Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt, Coach Shiro (Voltron), Dorks in Love, F/M, Foster families, Ice Skating, Keith serenades Shiro, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Medal kink, Protective Keith (Voltron), alternate universe - figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadenemesis/pseuds/arcadenemesis
Summary: “Let them write about the Champion’s brat. I don't care.”Keith notices Shiro’s eyes unfocus a little at the title and decides to file that one away for later. He reaches up to remove the gold medal around his neck, but a warm hand stops him. He glances up to Shiro, who is - honest to god - biting his lip and watching his hands shyly like some kind of blushing virgin.“Do you think… maybe… keep it on?”





	1. Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

> _This can be read as a standalone, but to read about the Champion of figure skating and a lot of pining, check out part one & two first._

The season after Shiro retires, he signs on as Keith’s assistant coach. It's a new challenge for both of them, but the press seems eager to amplify it into something much bigger than it is.

“Keith-” journalists have always been too familiar, he thinks, “-has having Shiro take on the role as a one of your coaches posed any difficulties for your relationship? Does spending so much time in the rink together create strain at home?”

 _Definitely_ too familiar. Keith is mid-way through an eye roll when he catches Shiro’s expression to the left of the stage, clearly trying to transmit a message to play nice. He aborts the action and bites back his sigh.

“No,” he says flatly, leaning in too close to the microphone so the sound comes through with a punch. “We're capable of separating our professional and personal lives.”

“Do you think Shiro’s relative lack of experience as a coach is why you only took gold by less than half a point tonight?” another asks.

Keith covers the microphone with his hand and leans back in his chair to shoot an annoyed look at the interview host.  
"Do I really have to answer this or have you let some actual journalists into the room tonight?”

It's loud enough that the press certainly still hears if the way Shiro presses his face into his palm is any indication, but Keith has had enough. The host grimaces and asks for the next question. An awkward titter goes though the room for a moment before the focus moves to the other two medallists, and Keith sits back with a scowl until the interviews are done.

“You know you've just fuelled their articles about your behaviour for the next week, right?” Shiro asks him as he closes their hotel room door and removes his shoes.

Keith rips his Team USA jacket off a little more violently than necessary, glaring at the ground. He knows, and he hates it, but he hates the unfair criticism of Shiro more.  
"I won gold. And still apparently that's a failure.”

“Hey.”  
Shiro is on him in two strides, stilling him with a gentle hand under his chin.  
“You were beautiful tonight. Perfect. You nailed your spins and you listened to me about that combo at the end. Maybe it wasn't your season’s best, but even then it was enough. There's a reason you're my favourite pupil.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but it's in good nature.  
“You mean I've been sleeping my way to the top for no reason this entire time?”

Shiro scrunches up his nose in what Keith thinks is meant to be a display of disgust, but he ruins it with a laugh.

“Let them write about the Champion’s brat. I don't care.”

Keith notices Shiro’s eyes unfocus a little at the title and decides to file that one away for later. He reaches up to remove the gold medal around his neck, but a warm hand stops him. He glances up to Shiro, who is - honest to god - biting his lip and watching his hands shyly like some kind of blushing virgin.

“Do you think… maybe… keep it on?”

Keith is pretty sure his brain fries in his skull right then and there. But since Shiro seems to have reverted back to high school, he gathers the last of his mental function to take charge.

“Would you like that?” he croons softly.

The effect is immediate. Colour blooms across Shiro’s cheeks and he nods without meeting his eyes. Keith feels drunk on it already.

“Sit down,” he instructs firmly.

Shiro goes without question, stumbling over his own feet as he scrambles backwards to the bed. Keith does his best not to laugh as he untucks his performance shirt from his leggings and begins unfastening the buttons. Shiro's eyes flick up when he steps forward to stand between his legs.

“Maybe I can come up with a way to say thank you to my very patient and clever coach for my gold...”

Shiro’s breath leaves him in a rush, fanning the wildfire sparking through his veins. His hands rise to take hold of his hips, but Keith tuts and he stops short.

“You're still dressed,” Keith chastises, nodding to his body.

It's a lovely suit. Armani in black with a burgundy silk tie. Keith is torn between wanting to ruin it and remembering just how much Shiro had dropped on it in the first place. Best not to be rash.

Keith watches as he hurries out of his jacket and throws it haphazardly on the floor. Clearly Shiro isn't thinking about the price tag. He lays back to quickly shuck off his trousers and Keith laughs at his eagerness, taking mercy and tugging at the hems at his ankles. Shiro's already hard, straining against his boxer briefs and Keith feels another surge of power going straight to his head. He looks a little ridiculous, shirt still buttoned and tie fastened at his throat. It's hardly an issue; Keith is pretty sure Shiro has managed to seduce him in bed socks and holey underwear before. And besides, the dance belt he strips down to when he removes his leggings is hardly the height of sex appeal either.

The tie is quickly discarded, but Shiro is still struggling with the last of his buttons when Keith crawls over him and pulls at the elastic of his briefs. He lets his breath ghost over Shiro’s skin, feeling him still beneath him immediately, but then he presses an innocent kiss into the inside of his thigh as he pulls the material all the way down, grinning when Shiro groans in displeasure.

“Patience yie--"

“Don't you dare finish that sentence, Kogane.”

Keith takes his time opening him up, waiting until Shiro is pliant under his fingers, fisting the sheets and desperate for friction. He kisses away his pleas, the medal around his neck brushing over Shiro's chest as he slowly sinks into him. Shiro sighs sweetly against his mouth, crooking his knee to press his heel into the small of Keith’s back and pull him deeper. And Keith still revels in Shiro's desperation but it's all he can do but to treat him gently. He pulls back slowly, relishing the drag, before rocking in at the same excruciating pace. Shiro squirms beneath him, huffing his disapproval when Keith grins.

“Don't tease me,” he growls, voice already affected.

Keith laughs softly, digging his fingers into the meat of Shiro’s thigh as he draws back again. This time, he snaps his hips forward, and he's rewarded with a punched out gasp from the body beneath him.

“Better?” he manages, when Shiro finally catches up and starts trying to match his pace with the tilt of his own hips, even when Keith plants a firm hand on his chest.

“God. Yes. Just like that,” he pants between them. “You're so good to me. Please don't stop…”

He chases out Shiro’s pleasure until they're both spent and heaving. Keith barely has the energy to clean them both up, and Shiro is already half asleep and mumbling sweet nonsense when he crawls into the bed properly beside him. When they wake in the morning, tangled in the sheets and each other, Shiro pulls at the medal still around his neck and laughs.

“I'm not adverse to another thank you…”

* * *

Keith watches Shiro rounding up the novices while he stretches at the boards, pulling his left leg high behind his head into a Biellmann stance. One of the more ambitious girls takes off ahead of the pack, kicking off from her toe pick into an attempted triple toe loop. Keith is impressed by her tenacity, but it ends poorly for her. Her blades catch sideways on the ice as she lands, and Keith can almost feel the thump from the other side of the rink. He drops his stretch immediately, panicking. He doesn't have quite the easy manner Shiro does with the younger skaters, and he certainly doesn't have the patience to train them, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care for them too.

Shiro is on her in a flash, but there is no reprimand as he crouches down beside her. She's crying, Keith can hear that much, and there's crimson trickling down her chin to spot the ice. Shiro asks her something and she nods, then he's scooping her up in his arms, calling one of his assistants over to direct the rest of the cohort.

Keith turns automatically to find the first aid kit on the benches, snapping an ice pack to activate the cooling agent. Shiro is already stepping off the ice when he checks over his shoulder. His young student has her arms wrapped around the back of his neck and he's letting her bleed all over his training shirt. It's kind of sweet… in a completely gross way.

“Just a busted lip,” Shiro says cheerfully, depositing her gently on the bench. “We’ve still got a full set of teeth, which is nice.”

Keith can't help but smile, shaking his head as he kneels down in front of the novice to unlace her skates cautiously.  
“Ankles?”

“Bit sore, but we can still wiggle our toes,” Shiro answers as he starts mopping up his student's chin. The collective reference is endlessly endearing.

Keith pauses on his knee once he gets the first skate off, looking the young student in the eye.  
“You need to be more careful,” he says seriously, because he knows Shiro doesn't have it in him to be too tough with his novices when they mess up like this. He starts on the other skate.  
“You gave yourself barely any lead up and half of your first rotation was on the ice. No wonder you were unbalanced.”

She flushes, looking down.  
“Sorry Keith…”

And so he softens.  
“I can't have you giving Shiro a heart attack out there,” he says, reaching for the ice pack and applying it to where her ankle is already starting to swell.  
“He's getting old, you know. You have to take care of him.”

“Hey!!”

The girl gives a warbled giggle and Shiro gently wipes the tears from her cheeks with his shirtsleeves, tutting.

“Don't worry, you'll get it next time,” he smiles to her, and she mirrors it back with a nod.

Keith is struck by just how natural Shiro looks like this and his heart butchers a toe loop of its own in his chest. He has to clear his throat and stand to busy himself with his stretches again while his brain unhelpfully feeds him with more images of how Shiro could put his innate skills with kids to use. The white picket fence and bedtime stories and school days materialise far too easily and without his permission. It's a dangerous, terrifying thought, and one he immediately tries to push back into the deepest corner of his mind.

* * *

Between announcing his role as Keith’s new full time coach and Worlds, Shiro turns 28.

They can't travel so close to the competition, and Shiro’s grandparents can't make the fifteen hour flight, but the Holts come through by flying up to celebrate with them. Keith is reminded again of the gratitude he holds for having them in his life. The kindness they show him extends without question to Shiro, and the word _family_ bounces through his head until he feels dizzy with it when they crowd around the apartment’s small dinner table to eat together.

It’s not his birthday, so Colleen chases him and Matt into the kitchen to wash up. He catches bits and pieces of the conversation at the table, the excitement in Katie’s voice audible. He remembers that she was Shiro’s fan before him, before he was even in the picture. Really, he supposes, he owes a lot of how his life has turned out to six year old Katie, an internet nerd with a figure skating obsession.

Keith watches them from afar, heart warm, as Matt takes the last plate from his hands to put away.  
“She sure does look at him like he strung up all the stars in the sky, huh?” he smiles.

Matt looks up at him, to the animated conversation at the dining table, then back to him again before he bursts into laughter. Keith starts, looking at him wide-eyed.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Matt is gasping at this point.  
“I mean sure, Keith ‘Googly-Eyes’ Kogane,” he manages.

Keith glares and whips him with the dishtowel.

They can't have cake, because it's far too close to the competition.

Correction - _he_ can't have cake, and Shiro looks torn between supporting his athlete-cum-partner and the prospect of refusing the Holts’ generosity to freeze a slice for a sanctioned cheat day after the competition. Keith feels particularly hard done by because it's his favourite: red velvet with cream cheese frosting that cuts through the cake in layers. Shiro knows. Keith can tell by the way he glances at him in trepidation after Sam lights the candles.

Keith rolls his eyes and huffs.  
“It's your birthday. Don't be stupid. Isn't this half the appeal of retiring?”

Shiro ducks his head sheepishly in response.

“Make a wish!” Colleen smiles.

Shiro takes Keith’s hand, eyes soft.  
“No need.”

Katie and Matt gag in tandem and Shiro laughs, turning back to blow out his candles. Keith retorts by sticking his fingers in the frosting of both their slices as he passes over their plates. Matt protests, but Katie just shrugs, and Keith winks to Shiro as he sucks the sugar from his thumb with a _pop_. Shiro inhales his spoon and the Holt siblings gag loudly again.

* * *

Shiro complains that he's getting out of shape, but Keith can't see it. The second time he says as much, in bed, Keith skips the reassurances to roll his eyes, sit up and blow a wet raspberry on his stomach.

“Hey! How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He's trying to smother a grin though, so Keith counts it as a win.

“It's barely been a year, Shiro. You're fine.”  
He smirks challengingly.  
“Not too late for you to come back though, Champion.”

Shiro laughs then, resting a hand behind his head.  
“Nah, I don't want to be one of those tragics who can't walk away. Besides,” his free hand brushes over Keith’s thigh absently, “as your coach, I have one or two ideas to keep us both active.”

“Really?”  
Keith raises an eyebrow, then shifts to straddle his hips.

“Enlighten me.”

* * *

After summer, Katie returns alone. She's blasting through her Ivy League education with two degrees already under her belt, and takes on a research project for her PhD at uOttawa. Shiro offers the spare room to her before Keith can start spiralling over the fact he has two years on her and hasn't quite found the time to finish off his Bachelors.

The thought of sharing the space they've carved out for themselves is a little jarring to Keith at first, but Katie slots into their lives with ease. Keith adjusts to the idea that he can't fuck Shiro on their couch when they come home from a rough day on the ice, but the blow is softened by the fact that Katie gives them plenty of time alone by virtue of being stuck in a library most evenings.

Between labs, Katie comes down to the rink to watch them practice. Keith doesn't mind - even when she heckles him from the boards - but the first time it happens, he keeps an eagle eye on Lance. To his relief, the Cuban skater doesn't spare her more than a cursory glance, before trying a terrible pickup line on one of the new speed skaters. He guesses Katie isn't exactly his type, particularly when she rocks up in a downright grubby college hoodie, moon glasses and hair that looks like she hasn't slept in a week. Just as well. She's far too good for him.

She does make fast friends with Hunk though, when the hockey squad’s sessions overlap. Keith finds out through this development that Hunk is far more intellectual than he ever gave him credit for. He and Katie often go on tangents about their fields of study in a way that makes Shiro look like he's going cross-eyed when they all have lunch together. Lance joins too, thanks to Hunk, and usually after striking out with one of the girls from the rink. Keith wonders how and when his life turned from lone wolf to full blown Breakfast Club. He pretends to miss the simpler days.

Olympic bronze seems to have only fuelled Lance’s unfound confidence with women in recent times, so Keith rubs his temples as he tries to pick up their waitress, while Shiro grounds him with light circles traced on his back. His sole comfort is that Katie remains safe - he's not even sure if Lance has actually realised she's a girl yet.

When Katie finally has an entire day away from the lab, she asks Shiro if she can interrupt their practice to join them on the ice. They're rapidly approaching the Autumn Classic, but Shiro glances to him and looks pained. Keith's not sure what he sees on his face, but he caves immediately. Keith and Katie share equally wide grins. It's been ages - years - since they've skated together, and Katie says as much. Montgomery finds some spare skates and training gear, and Katie races off to the changerooms.

It's only after she emerges that Keith realises his fatal error.

The student slob-chic look is swapped for form-fitting training skins and a tee that doesn't swallow her whole. The glasses have been replaced with contacts, and for some ungodly and cursed reason, Katie has decided to let her hair out of its perpetually messy bun and actually run a comb through it in the bathroom. Keith isn't stupid. He knows his sister is a beautiful woman. It's just he doesn't want certain others to figure it out too.

He turns to locate Lance, but it's already too late. It happens in slow motion. Lance's eyes lock onto Katie from across the rink and a look of pure alarm crosses his face. Keith curses as he watches his jaw go slack, and wonders how he is either going to reverse time or convince Lance he’s seen a mirage. His only satisfaction comes when the Cuban skater collides with the boards at speed and ends up flying ass up over the barrier.

Keith resolutely ignores the yelp and ensuing commotion to skate over to Katie and grab her hand, pulling her over to the other side of the rink as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.

Lance changes after that. He stops dragging the women who share the rink with them into ice dances, and he orders his food at lunch without delivering one single suggestive line to the waitress. It puts Keith on edge far more than his flirting ever did. When he starts earnestly trying to engage in Hunk and Katie's conversations - which are about 80 points above his IQ - Shiro has to hold Keith’s hand to stop him from lunging across the table to choke him out.

“He's looking at my sister,” he hisses to Shiro back at the apartment, while Katie occupies the shower.  
“I swear to God I'm going to kill him. I'm going to strangle him with his own laces if he so much as breathes on her.”

Shiro is trying not to laugh, which only fuels his rage.

“You see how he acts in the rink! This is a serious matter Takashi! My little sister is not going to be some idiot’s fling.”

“Baby,” Shiro placates, trying to school his expression into something neutral, “I think it's very sweet that you are so protective of Katie. But… I think she can handle herself. How old is she now? 21?”

“22,” Keith grumbles, because even if he sees where Shiro is going with this, he doesn't have to like it.  
“Exactly the age I _should_ be worried about assholes like Loverboy coming after her.”

Shiro’s shoulders start shaking, but before Keith can start growling, he peppers his face with over-exaggerated kisses that get louder and louder until Keith is squirming to try to get away, red-faced.

“Gross,” he hears behind him, announcing Katie's return. He didn't even hear the shower turn off.

“I'm hitting the library for a couple of hours. Remember: tie on the door handle.”

“Katie!!”

“Bye!” she sings as she closes the door, ignoring Keith.

Shiro is grinning to him when he looks back up to him, and kisses him softly one last time when he pouts.

“She's smarter than the two of us put together.”

“I know, but--”

“Keith, she'll be fine, okay?”

Keith glares for a moment longer, before relaxing with a sigh.  
“Okay.”

* * *

Keith tries to content himself in the fact that despite Lance’s attempts to win Katie over by talking to her when arrives at the rink, or taking her heavy book bag when they all break for lunch, she seems completely disaffected. It's clear she reads the behaviour as nothing more than friendly. And sure, maybe Lance isn't busting out cringe worthy one-liners or trying to literally sweep her off her feet, but Keith is on to him.

He finds out that the three of them - Katie, Hunk and Lance - have started some kind of study group on Saturdays and Keith considers petitioning for his expulsion from the university.

“What do you mean it's _kinda necessary_?” Keith demands from Hunk when he corners him before practice.  
“What application does Quantum Technology even have to Marine Biology?”

Yes, so maybe he had gone out of his way to find out what Lance was studying on his uOttawa sports scholarship to put his mind at ease. Sue him. But any comfort he had taken from that knowledge had evaporated with the discovery Lance was still managing to find extra time with Katie at the University.

Hunk is sweating like a beggar with a mortgage in front of him, shifting backward toward the wall.  
“Ah. Well. About that…”  
He waves his hands in front of him uselessly, as if trying to placate Keith as he intrudes a step closer.  
“Lance had a free elective open this semester and he decided to go for Introductory Physics. I said he was crazy - I mean, he has no background at all - but you know Lance. When he makes his mind up he--”

“He _what_?!”

Hunk jolts at his outburst, as if standing to attention, and Keith can hear his hockey squad muffling laughs behind their gear. He shoots them daggers where they stand by the boards. They shut up pretty quickly.

“A-ah yeah… I think Katie is a T.A. for the lecturer.”

Oh god, it’s far worse than he could have imagined.

“He's struggling with the content, so Katie and I agreed to help him out whenever one of us is free.”

Far, _far_ worse. Keith can hear the blood rushing through his ears.

“Dude, are you okay?”

No he's not okay. He can see right through Lance’s elaborate ruse. He just could never have foreseen the lengths he was willing to go.

“Keith?”  
The voice is different; familiar and low. A hand rests on his shoulder and he blinks up to Shiro’s cautiously concerned face.  
“Are you okay? You look a little faint… and you seem to be holding poor Hunk hostage here.”

“I underestimated him,” Keith breathes, aghast. “I knew he was crafty. But _physics_ …”  
He truly hadn't expected Lance’s thirst levels to lead him down the path of self-inflicted academic torture.  
“You should have let me railroad him at training last week.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hunk looks alarmed, but Shiro just laughs and takes his hand to urge him away.  
“Come on baby, we’ll spin it out. Then we’ll call it a day, okay?”

* * *

He's still ironing out the finer details of his new program, so Keith isn't too rattled when he places second at the Autumn Classic. That changes at the rink’s after party when Katie rocks up in a forest green mini-dress and insists no, she isn't cold Keith, she doesn't need a jacket, for the last time she's fine. Shiro betrays him by getting wasted within the first hour and dragging him onto the dance floor for some moves _not_ befitting an ex-champion of an artistic athletic discipline. He tries to crane his neck over Shiro’s shoulder to keep track, but it's fruitless. When Shiro finally stops spinning and he regains his equilibrium, he finds her again. To his utter dismay, Lance is with her, looking like he might be blushing while Katie grins at whatever one of them has said. Both have drinks in hand and Keith hears _Kill Bill_ sirens drowning out the music as the scene shifts into black and white. Thankfully, what Shiro lacks in rhythm when inebriated, he makes up for in suggestion.

“Go dance with Katie for a bit.”

Shiro lights up like it's the best idea he's heard all year and stumbles his way over to the two of them. Katie laughs, and Lance looks a little dejected when she follows Shiro with no complaint. The other dancers give them a three metre clearance to work with almost immediately and it's still almost complete carnage. Keith slots into Katie’s place at the table, and Lance quickly schools his expression into disinterest.

“Nice work today, Hothead.”

Keith wonders whether he antagonises him on purpose or if it's just some uncontrollable instinct of his.  
“You were unlucky not to score higher,” he replies coolly.

He needs another drink.

* * *

The lunches take a break for a while as Katie feels her deadline crunch on her research, and Keith breathes a little easier. He sees less of Lance off of the ice and his blood pressure lowers by at least fifty points. But it turns out letting his guard down comes to bite him in the ass when he limps home early from the dance studio with Shiro and a twisted ankle. The second Shiro opens the door for him, he can sense something is not right with the universe. Then Lance’s head pops up from over the armrest of the couch. The other skater’s eyes go wide and Keith blinks in complete dumbfounded confusion… but then he realises Katie is on the couch too and he sees red.

He pushes off of Shiro to hobble over with a vengeance, teeth bared.  
“Get the fuck out of my apartment Lance,” he snarls, grabbing him by the collar.

Lance goes easily, obviously a little shocked at being caught kissing his rinkmate’s foster sister on said rinkmate’s couch. He looks helplessly at Katie as he's dragged away, before he seems to come to his senses and starts fighting back.

“Come on man, get off! You're being an asshole. Let go of me!”

Keith hisses when Lance pushes him off and onto his sore ankle, and the two of them look ready to exchange blows when Katie’s voice cuts in.

“Lance, go home,” she says firmly. Then, a little gentler, “I'll call you later, okay?”

Lance’s shoulders drop and his expression softens.  
“Yeah… okay. I'll talk to you soon.”

Shiro holds the door open for him and when it closes, Katie is on Keith in an instant.  
“First of all, sit down you complete idiot,” she orders, taking hold of his shoulders.

Keith fights her direction.  
“Not on that couch, I won't!”

Katie rolls her eyes.  
“I _know_ you've done far worse on there yourself,” but she sits him down on one of the kitchen stools regardless. Shiro tosses her a bag of peas from the freezer, which she shoves unceremoniously into Keith’s chest.  
“What the hell is your problem? Am I not allowed to have guests while I'm here?”

“No,” Keith splutters indignantly, bringing his ankle to rest on his opposite knee to ice it, “but you can go for far better company than Ladykiller McClain there.”

Katie plants her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrow.  
“You're not my gatekeeper, Keith. I can look after myself. Frankly it's a bit insulting you seem to think otherwise.”

Keith looks stricken, shame flooding through him instantly. It's not that he thinks she's incapable, or that she lacks sound judgement. It's just…  
“I see what he does every day. I know his M.O. And Matt isn't here so I just want to step in and protect you like I know your brother would.”

Katie's hands drop instantly and the anger is replaced with something pained.  
“You _are_ my brother, Keith.”

Keith can't look her in the eye.  
“I… I know that. But it's not the same as--”

He's cut off when Katie slaps his cheeks between both of her palms, forcing him to look at her. If she was angry before, now she looks furious.  
“Shut up. It _is_ the same. You're my brother. I'm your sister. You're no more or less my family than Matt or Mom or Dad, do you understand?”

Keith is stunned, and he blinks up to her with terrified eyes.

“ _Do you understand_?”

Her voice cracks at the end and Keith's heart breaks. He hates crying, but he feels tears gather at his bottom lashes. Katie’s eyes shine with it too. He can't speak, so he just nods into her hands.

“Good.”

She releases him. The arm that doesn't hold his ankle twitches at his side before he raises it to wrap around her waist tentatively. She goes easily into the embrace, and Shiro slips away to give them some privacy. She squeezes him tightly for a moment before pressing her lips to his temple.

“There you go, dumbass: indirect kiss from Lance. You're welcome.”

Keith screws his face up in disgust.  
“You can do better.”

“Oh I know,” Katie responds cheerfully in spite of the tears. “I'm the best; no one is too good for me.”  
She smiles.  
“But I like him. He's kind and he's funny and he tries really hard. I think you would like him more if you just gave it a chance.”

Keith snorts his disagreement, but he decides not to dispute it.  
“If he does anything to upset you, call me and I'll bludgeon him with his own skates.”

“Duly noted.”

* * *

Keith hates crying, so he's not going to cry. That goes double when Lance is standing three feet away, draped over Katie’s shoulders as if he doesn't fear Keith’s wrath. But putting his sister on a plane back to the US after six months together might just break him.

“I wish you could come to watch me win the GP.”

“Big words from the guy qualifying in sixth.”

Keith grins when Lance’s head snaps in his direction to glare. Okay, maybe he’s starting to understand the appeal of winding him up.

“Be nice,” Katie and Shiro say in unison.

Katie leans back against Lance’s chest, tilting her head back to look up to him.  
“I could watch you go get me a drink instead,” she smiles sweetly.

Lance is like putty in her hands, nodding eagerly and releasing her with a kiss to her forehead.

_Whipped._

“Actually baby,” Shiro says beside him, clearing his throat, “I'm pretty thirsty too.”

Keith has his wallet out of his pocket before his subconscious can sneer _hypocrite_.

He stays silent as he walks with Lance, and it strikes him that he hasn't had a proper conversation with the guy that didn't revolve around their skating, even after a brief stint of living together when he first moved to Canada. The realisation makes his insides shrivel up in the most unpleasant way. He digs his hands in his pockets and looks around at the late night bustle of the airport while Lance takes far too long to make a choice from the vending machine. But then he breaks the silence.

“I know you don't trust me.”

Keith doesn't respond, but he turns his head so Lance knows he's listening.

“That’s fair. You've seen my game with the ladies.”

Keith scoffs loudly. But Lance only grins.

“But Katie… she's different. I’ve never felt this way about someone else before.”  
Lance blushes and Keith squirms. Talking _feelings_ with Lance is definitely not how he wants to expand their conversation topics. Apparently he's not going to get a say in the matter.  
“She's special.”

Keith agrees… but the idea of agreeing with Lance leaves him feeling off-balance. Lance finally presses one of the buttons to collect a mountain dew, and Keith steps forward to take his turn.

“... Don't fuck it up,” he finally says, tapping his card.

Lance looks at him with wide-eyed surprise, but then relief floods his expression. The air lightens just a little between them. It's progress.

When they get back to the other two, they seem to be conspiring, talking in low, hushed tones. Shiro springs away as he spots them, but Katie remains nonchalant, taking her can as Lance drapes his arms over her shoulders again. Keith raises an eyebrow, but he knows it's useless to ask. Katie is a master of secrets.

All too soon, her flight is called. Lance blubbers in a manner unbefitting for a mature adult and Keith definitely does _not_ feel himself tearing up in response, thank you very much. He has to look away when the pair start kissing because while he is coming to terms with Katie’s choices, he doesn't need to see them play out in front of him. Shiro catches her when she throws herself at him, and she whispers something in his ear while her feet dangle that curiously makes his face colour.

She leaves Keith until last, pausing for a moment, before hugging him tight enough to make his ribs creak.  
“I'm still cheering for you, just so you know,” she tells him, her voice a little thick. “Bros before hoes or whatever.”

Keith lets out a horrible, choked laugh and squeezes back.  
“I can't tell you how much that means to me,” he teases back.

“Love you,” he hears, muffled into his shoulder. He reaches up place a hand on her head.

“Love you too, sis.”

He's reluctant to let her go, and leans into Shiro's chest when he wraps an arm around his waist as they watch her leave. But Katie throws one last glance look over her shoulder at the departure gate, grinning with a mischievous farewell that Keith doesn't understand, but makes Shiro start spluttering.

“Don't you dare make us wait!”

Before he can ask what she means, she's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you know that we don't Pidge?...
> 
> Open to speculation at [copilotsheith](http://www.copilotsheith.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	2. Fairytales and Fallacies

Nerves are not something Keith deals with too often. Self doubt is something he learned to overcome long ago. But after a disastrous short program, he's entering the free in fifth, and it feels uncomfortable, unfamiliar. His hip has purpled spectacularly overnight from a hard fall early in his routine and he can feel the dull ache as his leg bounces while he watches the first skater step onto the ice. He can medal from here, he knows. Even gold isn't completely out of the question yet. But it's a tough ask, one that requires a flawless execution, and the pressure is crushing.

“I remember the first time I laid eyes on you,” Shiro says, voice soft at the edges as it intrudes his thoughts.

The memory coupled with his fall from yesterday isn't exactly helpful.  
“I honestly rather forget about how badly I wiped out in front of you,” Keith replies dryly.

Shiro snorts, but somehow he still manages to look dreamy doing it, grey eyes crinkling in a way that sends electricity skittering across Keith’s skin.  
“Not then. Years before. Although you did make me think I'd killed you before I had worked up the guts to talk to you.”

The words register at a snail's pace, the cogs of Keith's brain sputtering at the sudden extension of his existence in Shiro's timeline.  
“Years?” he echoes, managing to sound both weak and disbelieving all at once. He can't even process the idea that Shiro had any kind of agony over approaching him, his mind chucking that information into the ‘too hard’ basket.

Shiro’s smile grows fonder, and Keith wonders if his free is going to be in real danger of flopping too if his body threatens to melt under a look like that.

“Your last Junior Worlds. Or the gala, anyway. It was like the whole room parted and there you were.”

Keith blinks, not computing.  
“That was two seasons before we even spoke to one another.”

“Mm. I couldn't think of the right way to approach you without you thinking I was a complete idiot. I stayed up until 4am watching your program videos that night.”

It's such a bizarre concept that it makes Keith’s head swim.  
“You still have nothing over my ten years of idolisation. And how long after that before we got together? We're both fucking useless.”

He feels a little of his tension leave him as Shiro laughs.

“I remember watching you and thinking, ‘he'll beat me one day.’ It wasn't a matter of if, only when.”

Keith leans into his palm when Shiro presses it to his cheek, even when he levels him with a sceptical look.

“It’s true,” Shiro insists softly, brushing his thumb over his top lip. “The way you moved was beautiful. It was like you were born for the ice. But you never rested on your laurels. You still don't. You push as hard as you can and you're not afraid to take risks. It was scary as a competitor - it's terrifying as your coach - but it's why you're the best.”

Keith can feel his face burning under Shiro’s hand, squirming under the praise. But before he express his dissent, Shiro tilts his chin up to kiss him chastely.

“I love you, and I can't wait to see what you do out there.”

Keith can't remember why he's supposed to feel nervous when he steps on the ice. He claws back silver and adds almost half a point to his free skate world record. Hearing Shiro telling him how proud he is when he steps down from the podium is far sweeter than gold anyway.

* * *

Shiro thinks it's impossible to feel any more love for one single human being. But then he finds out that Keith adjusted his sports science degree to include a rehabilitation major after his Olympics disaster, and he falls a little more.

The crossover between his studies and Shiro’s long-completed Bachelor of Sports Management is minimal, but he does his utmost to support him as much at his work desk as he does on the ice. Sometimes it means brewing coffee at 2am against his coaching instincts, or cooking dinner for the eighth night in a row, but Shiro takes it without complaint (although, how hard is it _really_ to place a glass in the dishwasher instead of leaving on the sink?).

For the most part, Keith manages. But in the summer when he is juggling extra classes to try to catch up to his full-time peers, with learning new choreography for the season starting on the other side of their exams, he finally snaps. They have their first big fight on the ice, right in front of the hockey team.

“Maybe I can't step properly because your instruction is fucking awful!”

Shiro knows he doesn't mean it, reminds himself about the virtues of patience, but it still stings.  
“Keith, I know you can do this,” he says evenly. “Your focus isn't with the ice today. You need to let everything else go while we're practising.”

“My focus is just fine,” Keith spits, turning to a halt so abrupt that it sends a spray of ice from his blades. “Maybe if I didn't have to work around these brutes,” he gestures at the team at the other end of the rink, who are suddenly paying far too much attention, “I could actually figure this out for myself.”

Shiro breathes through his nose, but despite his best efforts, his voice comes out clipped.  
“Keith, you are capable of sharing the ice for practice. Don't start acting like…” he stops himself, realising the path is an error. But it's too late.

“Like what?” Keith snarls, and Shiro thinks he can hear his voice echoing off the ceiling. “Like a brat? Is that what you want to say?”

“You know that's not--"

“No, really. Speak your mind. Tell me Shiro, what am I acting like?”

Shiro's patience runs out.  
“Get off my ice, Keith.”  
His coach voice is in full force.

“What?!”

“Hit the showers. We're done for today.”

Keith is livid.  
“You can't just decide that.”

“I think you'll find as your coach, I can,” Shiro retorts firmly. “Go.”

Keith growls, stomping off of the rink, leaving Shiro to deal with the stares of the hockey team on the ice alone. He offers his apologies to the captain before departing himself. When he emerges from his office later, he notes Keith’s Harley is already gone from its spot near the rink entrance and he sighs.

The bike is parked up when he arrives back at the apartment, and jacket and boots are slung by the front door. There's no sign of Keith, but the bedroom door is closed, and judging by the lack of textbooks on the table, Shiro can guess he's studying on their bed. Keith knows he hates it when he brings his books in there, so it's probably out of spite. But he just rubs the ache out of his temples and leaves him be, starting on dinner.

When he's almost finished and there's still no sign of life from the bedroom, Shiro contemplates knocking. But the situation is foreign, and he's not sure if Keith needs his space, so he fixes a bowl and shoots a quick text to let him know dinner’s ready. He hears Keith's message tone on the other side of the door, so that at least reassures him he hasn't run off somewhere. He waits a moment, before resigning and taking his own serving out to the couch. The bedroom door creaks open and Shiro hears hesitant footsteps pad behind him toward the kitchen. He turns in his seat to catch Keith’s cowed expression on his journey back.

“Keith,” he says softly, wincing when he starts and almost drops his bowl, even though he's already looking at Shiro. “Come here. We should talk.”

Keith's shoulders hunch inward, but silently he complies, sitting on the opposite end of the couch to leave a canyon of space between them.

“Today was… tough,” he starts. “We obviously have some issues we weren't aware of before.”

Keith takes a very unsteady breath with a strange expression. Shiro doesn't know quite what to make of it. Is he still angry? Perhaps it's too early to work on a resolution. There is a lot to be said about letting Keith cool off first in most situations. He just doesn't know if this is the same.

“I understand if you don't want to do this anymore.”

Suddenly Shiro recognises the look on his face. It’s terror. He almost tosses his bowl across the room in a hurry to put it down.  
“Keith, no. That thought hasn't crossed my mind once. It was just an argument. A lack of communication. It happens.”

“I was an asshole,” he whispers, not able to meet Shiro's eyes.  
“You were just trying to help me and I snapped.”

“Yes,” Shiro admits, because there's no point in sugar coating it and letting him off the hook entirely. “But I understand why. You've been stressed because of your exams and I haven't taken that into consideration during practice. As a coach, I should know how to manage that better.”

“I would drop me if I was you.”

In that moment, Shiro can see the old wound of abandonment working itself open in front of him. They've spoken about this. About this buried fear of losing the people closest to him. He has observed it in moments with Katie in the months she stayed with them, and in the way he hesitates and holds back from opening himself up to the other people in his life. But this is the first time it plays out for him, and it turns his blood to ice.

“Keith,” he breathes, but he sees his expression only shutter a little more, staring resolutely at his lap. “Keith, please look at me.”

He doesn't respond even then, so Shiro shifts to take his bowl and move it aside, pulling his hands into his to squeeze them. It still elicits nothing from Keith, so he kneels in front of him instead, cupping his cheek. Desperation wracks him as he brushes his hair back from his face to seek his eyes.

“I need you to understand one very important thing and that is I'll never, _never_ give up on you.”

It's a fight to keep his voice steady. Keith shudders on another exhale and Shiro feels it shake him too. Then Keith catches him off guard by plunging forward to kiss him. Stunned, Shiro indulges him once, twice, but then he gently works his hands away from where they cling to his neck and try to wander. Keith looks confused and hurt, and it's like a dagger to his heart, but Shiro feels a little horrified that his first line of defence goes straight to sexual affection.

“I'm not going anywhere, baby,” he whispers, pressing his thumbs into Keith's palms.

“You don't have to convince me to stay. I'm here until you want me to go. One little argument isn't going to change that.”

There’s a horrible pause, then Keith cracks in front of him. Shiro reaches up to brush the first tear that streaks down his cheek, but it's in vain. Another floods past his fingers as he watches Keith try to blink his vision clear and bites down on his bottom lip. When he releases it unwillingly with a choked off sob, Shiro rises in an instant to gather him up in his arms. Keith doesn't fight, and Shiro thinks it might be a small victory, until Keith finally speaks again.

“Why am I so useless?”

Shiro’s breath leaves him in a rush and his grip tightens out of reflex.

“I can't skate. I'm a terrible boyfriend. I can't study for shit and I'm going to flunk out of this class and never graduate with this degree. I'm a complete failure.”

Shiro feels his heart sink like a stone. He had suspected that Keith was feeling the stress of his studies, but he hadn't realised just how bad it was. It sends a pang of guilt through him.

“Keith, none of that is true. You are talented, you are clever and I love you.”  
He presses his cheek to the top of his head and sighs softly.  
“I think you're overworked though. We need to come up with a way to manage your load better. That doesn't make you useless. It just means we’re a little off balance at the moment.”  
Keith trembles against him, then shifts to slip an arm around his waist. Shiro knows it's a sign he's being receptive, so he kisses his hair and braces him against his chest with one arm as he reaches for Keith’s bowl again.  
“Eat. I'll run us a bath after and we’ll figure this out together.”

Keith uncurls a little to take the offering, but makes no move to leave Shiro’s lap. Shiro doesn't try to displace him either, even when Keith retrieves his own dinner to balance both bowls on his knees. The silence as they eat is only interrupted by the occasional sniff from Keith until he speaks softly.

“Thank you, Takashi.”

* * *

It takes withdrawing from some of the smaller competitions and an honest conversation with the faculty leader at the university, but things settle. Keith blitzes through his finals and finishes his degree with a 3.92 GPA. Keith confesses that he wants to look into taking the MCAT to apply for Medical School where he can specialise further in rehabilitation. But only after a much needed break. It still blows Shiro away how much he undersells just how clever he truly is.

Katie wedges him between her and Matt in the amphitheatre and gives him a stern look.  
“Six months, Shiro.”

He flushes, looking up to where Keith sits close to the stage with the other graduates. He hasn't forgotten the conversation at the airport.  
“I know, I know.”

It isn't from a lack of desire. There's been a weight sitting in his jacket pocket since his birthday that he's very conscious of at all times. But he wants it to be perfect. He wants Keith to remember it for the rest of his life. He just needs to figure out how.

“He might beat you to it with all this extra time he's going to have now.”  
Shiro's not surprised Matt is ribbing him too. He hardly expected Katie to keep it all to herself for this long.  
“Unless that's what you're counting on?”

Shiro touches his pocket unconsciously and Katie's eyes follow the motion with a grin.

“You're hopeless,” she tells him with fondness as the Chancellor takes the stage.

The ceremony seems to go on forever. Katie complains as much in his ear in an uncomfortably close whisper that almost makes him jump out of his seat. Colleen has to nudge Matt awake no less than three times and Shiro shoves him when his head lands on his shoulder. But when Keith takes the stage for his diploma, the Holts all give a raucous cheer and Katie tries to pierce his eardrums with a wolf-whistle. He can see Keith blushing as he shakes the Chancellor’s hand. Shiro thinks it might be the proudest moment of his life.

Keith tries to make a beeline for them the moment the ceremony finishes, but it seems his classmates have other ideas. They stop him for selfies and signatures, and Keith looks embarrassed but there's a pleased flush in his cheeks. Shiro just smiles and accepts a champagne glass as Matt ferries them from the first attractive caterer that walks past. He wonders if Katie has introduced him to Lance yet. The two of them would probably be partners in crime… or sworn enemies. It's a fifty-fifty shot. When Keith finally joins them, he steals Shiro's glass to drain it in one gulp.

“Uh, I think that's mine?”

“It's my graduation day,” he retorts.

The Holts swamp him immediately and Matt lifts his mortarboard to ruffle his hair. Shiro snatches the cap back to replace it tenderly and adjust the tassel. He leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips, tasting his lost champagne.

“Congratulations baby,” he smiles. “You've worked so hard. You deserve this.”

When he pulls back, Keith grins up to him, looking truly happy and relaxed for the first time in months.  
“Thanks for keeping me sane. I probably would have gotten myself kicked out somehow if you weren't around.”

He wants to ask then, looking at him in his regalia. It almost leaves him in a rush without permission. But he reigns it in. It’s too cliche. And this day is already so special on its own. It shouldn't have to share the spotlight with anything else.

“So what now, Keith?” Matt asks.  
“Dad said you were thinking of taking the MCAT.”

Keith shrugs noncommittally.  
“Maybe.”  
A grin spreads across his face.  
“But first, I want to jump a quad axel.”

Katie jumps on his skating plans immediately and the moment slips away. Shiro takes his hand instead - his left, perhaps unconsciously - and kisses his knuckles.

Maybe not today. But soon.

* * *

Keith has met his family a handful of times at NHK and championship events in Tokyo, but Shiro decides it's important they spend time with them outside of their skating obligations. Especially now. He frames it as a graduation gift and sets aside a week out of their training schedule before the start of the new season. It's midnight when they get in to Narita, and another hour on the shinkansen and JR before they reach Ueno Station. Keith is falling asleep on his feet and leaning heavily into his shoulder, but his grandparents have stayed up to greet them at the door when they reach their apartment. Keith tries valiantly to stay awake, but Shiro declines his grandmother’s offer of tea as he helps him toe off his shoes at the door. Whispered good nights are exchanged and Shiro half-carries Keith to the mattress rolled out in the spare room. Keith fumbles with his clothes for a moment before Shiro takes pity and brushes his hands away. It’s a humid night, so he leaves him stripped down and crawls in beside him once the lights are turned off. Keith is barely conscious, but still throws an arm over him and nestles in close, despite the heat. Shiro groans his protest but presses a kiss to his forehead anyway and closes his eyes.

There's no sleep-in, but Shiro makes sure they pause at a cafe on the way to Ueno Park to provide Keith with a much-needed dose of caffeine. The artificial pick up does its job of making Keith appear more human, but the heat has him scrambling to pull his hair into a ponytail by the time they reach the park. Shiro fills in the gaps in his grandparent's broken English when they ask about Keith’s graduation and Keith tells them about their life in Ottawa. They're watching the swan boats on the lake when Shiro’s aunt and cousins arrive.

“Promise me we’ll go on one of those later,” Keith says as his cousin’s son runs up to tug on his hands.

Keith props him onto his hip and Shiro can't think of how he could possibly say no.

  
Shiro's family stays in the city for three more days. He lets them in on his secret, and is relieved when they give him nothing but support. He's also relieved for the language barrier though, because his aunt almost lets the cat out of the bag on seven separate occasions before they all head back to the country. Shiro checks them into a hotel in Ginza for their last few days and Keith pounces on him the moment he closes the door to the suite. Shiro laughs as he picks him up and presses him against the wall to kiss bruises into his neck. His name tumbles from Keith’s lips like a soft incarnation. Shiro falls under his spell again.

  
He has one last surprise up his sleeve before they leave.

“Disneyland?!”

Keith doesn't even bother trying to play it cool. There is a spark in his eyes that ignites in Shiro’s chest as he takes the tickets to inspect them up close. When they reach the train station, Keith already has a strategic plan mapped out. It's all Shiro can do to keep up as he's dragged across the park straight to Space Mountain. By the time they pause for stall food in front of Cinderella’s castle (“Calories don't count at the Happiest Place on Earth, Shiro"), Keith has proudly procured them both Mickey ears to wear. Or Minnie ears, as is the case for Shiro. Keith flicks the bow on the top of his head as Shiro steals an alien-shaped mochi dumpling from his Toy Story cup. He hasn't stopped smiling all day and Shiro feels giddy with it. He tugs at Keith’s singlet, who steps in closer to kiss him with a grin. The weight in his pocket burns. This is it. He can feel it. The moment is finally right.

“Keith…”

There's a scream to his left that breaks them apart. Shiro is half-expecting to see a horrifically injured park goer or a rogue food stall barreling toward them, but reality is far, _far_ worse. On the bridge to the castle, a woman is hopping up and down and crying, holding a hand to her mouth. In front of her is Shiro's worst nightmare: a man kneeling with a ring.

“Heh, that's sweet.”

Shiro's eyes snap back to Keith, who is watching the scene with a soft expression. Shiro fights back the urge to jump straight into Cinderella’s moat and plasters a smile on his face. He needs to get away from this before he starts screaming too.

“Oh hey, would you look at the time? Our fastpass for Haunted Mansion is coming up.”

  
Back in Canada, Shiro talks to Katie while Keith sleeps off his jetlag. Shiro feels the full judgemental force of her groan through his phone.

“ _You have seriously got to get your shit together._ ”

Shiro can't help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, let me just be the first to say, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart: my bad.
> 
> Find me at [copilotsheith](http://www.copilotsheith.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


	3. A Thing Called Love

When Keith draws Internationaux de France for the Grand Prix series, Shiro shifts into overdrive. He's been struggling with his question since they put Katie on a plane before Christmas - moreso since his comprehensive failure in Tokyo - but this seems like the perfect time to strike. What could be more romantic than dinner by twilight nestled in the French Alps? He times their flights so they have a few extra days for sightseeing and finds a suite in a château on the fringe of the city.

 _“It's November, Shiro,”_ Katie berates him on the phone when he runs the plan by her. _“I thought I told you not to make us wait.”_

His excuses sound terrible, even to him.

 

Keith looks stunned when their car pulls up in the château courtyard and he's still staring up at the imposing fortress by the time Shiro has unloaded their bags.

“What's the occasion?” he asks, bemused.

Shiro has to focus all brainpower into not immediately freezing under the question.  
“Oh… just saw a deal with the airline when I was booking our flights.”  
He hopes he sounds far more nonchalant than he feels.  
“Thought it would be fun.”

There’s a pause that lasts forever, but then Keith laughs.  
"Montgomery never booked me a castle.”  
He flashes him a grin, shouldering his bag and taking his hand.  
“You're setting a dangerous precedent, Shirogane...”

 

Keith has never been a morning person. His ability to rise early has always been born out of necessity and not natural predisposition. Shiro's favourite mornings are when the alarms don't do their job and he can kiss him awake until lips press back against his, soft and sleepy. It happens more frequently these days Shiro finds, and he hopes that maybe it's because Keith feels he can let his guard down around him.

So when he wakes to rustling in the bathroom while it's still dark, Shiro thinks for a wild moment that they have an intruder. But then he notices the empty space beside him and frowns. He pushes up onto his elbows just as the door opens, blinding him with light.

“Sorry,” he hears Keith whisper as the light flicks off again. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

He looks a little pale as Shiro’s vision returns and he straightens a little more.  
“Are you okay?”  
Keith just nods, and Shiro's not entirely convinced. He glances at the bedside clock.  
“Come back to bed. We don't have to be up for practice for another couple of hours.”

Keith hesitates for a moment, but walks over to his side again. Shiro opens his arms and he crawls in beside him, resting his head on his chest and curling in tight against him. His skin feels cold, Shiro notices. He must have been up for a while before he woke.

“Sure you're okay baby?”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles into his sternum. “Just jetlag. ‘S fine.”

 

It's decidedly not fine.

Hours later at the arena, Keith looks wobbly on his skates. He's still pale and he's sweating far too much this early into practice. Lance has drawn the same comp, and even he is starting to shoot him concerned looks. But Keith insists he's right to skate when questioned, and the stubborn look on his face is enough for Shiro to back down.

It all comes to a grinding halt mid-sit spin. He is only half way through his combo when he kicks up ice to stop himself short and a hand flies to his mouth. Shiro swears under his breath and starts sprinting to the gate as Keith dashes for it too. Shiro sees the panic in his eyes and knows there's no time for skate guards. Wordlessly, knowing that there is an extreme chance things are going to get very ugly very soon, he picks him up from the ice and hurries them both to the men's room. He barely gets him on his knees in the first cubicle before Keith starts heaving his meagre breakfast into the toilet bowl. Previous experience has taught Shiro he's a sympathetic vomiter, and it's a fight to keep himself together when he scoops Keith's hair back so it doesn't get in his face. He doesn't trust himself to speak until he seems to be done.

“Feeling any better now?”

Keith shakes his head with a whine and Shiro feels his heart sink. While he would gladly bundle himself in blankets on the couch at the first sign of a sniffle, Shiro has seen Keith front training delirious with fever and full of the flu and declare he was fine. If he was admitting defeat now, he had to be far worse than he had been letting on.

Shiro hears the door to the bathroom open as Keith starts on round two and glances around the cubicle door, half to see who has come in, half to get a little away from the queasy sounds echoing into the bowl. He’s met with the sight of Lance screwing up his nose in disgust.

“Is that--"

Shiro cuts him off.  
“Could you grab the water bottle from my bag? Side pocket.”

Lance shrugs his assent, leaving momentarily. Keith is bundling up toilet paper by the time he returns, and snatches the bottle from him to rinse his mouth as Shiro starts untying his skates.

“Forget to use protection, huh?” Lance grins.

Keith looks confused, but Shiro levels him with a flat look.  
“Lance…”

Lance ignores his warning. “It's a morning sickness joke, hothead.”

Keith scowls as the penny drops.  
“Hilarious. I'll be sure to aim the next projectile at you, fuckface.”

Lance looks scandalised, placing a hand to his chest. “Woah, Keith! Not in front of the baby!”

“Lance!” Shiro interjects with more force. “Leave him alone. He’s sick.”  
He considers himself a rather tolerant and patient person, but a protectiveness has flared up in him seeing Keith like this. He won't stand for Lance niggling him. And he finds he's not above making threats.  
“I'm not afraid to let Montgomery know you need more transition drills when we get back to Canada.”

“Pfft.”

“Or I guess I could just tell Katie?”

Lance’s eyes bug at that.  
“Oh god please don't. She'll be mad she didn't get in first.”

That's… not exactly what Shiro is going for, but he takes it anyway.

“Get back to practice,” he says, as Keith groans and starts shifting back onto his knees again. “Tell the others to use a different bathroom for the rest of the day.”

It's tedious getting Keith back to their room, and Shiro feels a stab of guilt for booking the chateau away from the arena and other competitors. Of course, Keith falling ill wasn't exactly something he had planned for. It puts him in a bit of a spin on a professional and personal level. He has to act as his coach first and foremost in this situation. Once he finally has Keith tucked in bed with a Gatorade and bucket within arm's reach, he calls a doctor to come around. Keith manages to fumble through some French as the doctor assesses him, and ends up with a needle to help curb his nausea and confirmation that he has picked up a virus somewhere between Ottawa and Grenoble. Bed rest and fluids is the best they can do until it subsides on its own.

Shiro knows he has to make a tough decision. The short program is tomorrow afternoon, and Keith has been hazy at best since the doctor's visit. He sits down on the bed beside him, running his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair.  
“Baby… I'm going to call the ISU.”

“No…”  
Even bleary eyed, Keith looks devastated. It’s one thing to withdraw with an injury… but another to drop out due to a badly-timed illness. Shiro can see that it's salt in his wounded pride.

“Your health is the most important thing to me,” he continues without pause. “I know you want to skate, but you can't like this. You need to focus on getting better. You could still make it to the final with your results from China, depending on how these last two comps go. You're better off resting for that than risking it for tomorrow.”

“Takashi,” Keith half-sobs in protest.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he presses a kiss to his forehead, “but it’s not up for discussion. I have a responsibility to make the best decisions as your coach. But as someone who loves you, this is the right choice too. Gold medals can wait.”

The expression doesn't wane, but Keith doesn't fight. Shiro can tell what he’s thinking. Keith’s only just a touch younger than he was when he retired. Every missed opportunity now is amplified by the crushing pressure of time and the uncertainty of when it will run out. But Shiro knows it's the right call, even if it feels terrible, like he has ripped the championship from his hands himself.

“I'll just be in the hallway, okay? If you need me, you only need to yell and I'll be back in a heartbeat.”

Keith hesitates, but then nods, curling in on himself. Shiro presses one last kiss to his hairline as he stands, grabbing his phone from the bedside table and slipping quietly out through the door.

The first call is easy enough, even if it makes him feel flat. The ISU seems to expect the news when he delivers it; Shiro's sure rumours of Keith’s redecoration of the men's room would have reached the officials by the end of the day. They express their support and their sympathies and offer to help with any rearrangements to their travel.

The second call is decidedly more… uncomfortable. Weeks of planning goes up in smoke in seconds and the weight in his pocket feels heavier than ever.

The hostess on the other end of the line tries to offer awkward condolences and Shiro rushes in with a nervous laugh to assure her that Keith is simply ill. Then he wonders why he is half way to explaining the current state of his love life and his partner's digestive tract. He catches himself and hurries to put an end to the call in an attempt to salvage the last of his self respect. And that's all there is to it. No more six-course dinner by the River Isère with a mountain view. No more romantic lighting and live instrumentals. No more expensive champagne. No more important question. It's a cacophony of frustration and disappointment and worry that swirls through him and he spares an extra moment in the hall to centre himself. It's not as if he can talk to Keith about this after all.

Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Extravagant evenings and fine dining aren't exactly their thing anyway. Perhaps this is the universe intervening. What if it means something more though? What if it's a sign he's rushing in? Has he thought this through? He knows how he feels. Knows it bone deep and without doubt. But what about Keith? Is this even something he wants? Does this fit with his plans?

He knows he's fixating, trying to pluck some deep reason from nothing. It's all just terrible luck, not cosmic intervention. He can't do anything about it, but he _can_ do something about his very ill boyfriend in their hotel bed. He scrubs a hand over his face, collects his thoughts, and opens the door.

He hears Keith whimper his name as he steps in the room again. He's on him in two seconds flat, tenderly brushing his hair back from his face.

“What is it baby? What do you need?”

He looks miserable as he turns glassy eyes onto him, and Shiro feels his heart squeeze.

“I don't want you to get sick too,” Keith mumbles, even as he unconsciously seeks his touch.

Shiro offers him a smile.  
“Don't worry about me,” he soothes. “How do you feel?”

Keith half-sobs in response. “Sick… cold. Everything aches. I wish we were at home.”

“I know baby. I'm sorry.”

“Lay with me?”

Shiro doesn't hesitate to strip down and pull back the covers to slide in beside him, looping his arms loosely around his waist. Keith’s skin is burning, but he shivers and pulls Shiro's arms tighter around him.

“Sure this is comfortable?” Shiro frowns, brushing his knuckles over his belly featherlight.

“Trust me,” Keith says dryly. “I'll let you know when it's not.”

They stay two days longer than planned in Grenoble until Keith is well enough to make the flight back to Canada.

For the first time since he won silver to Shiro’s gold, Keith doesn't qualify for the Grand Prix Final.

* * *

It's months before Shiro works up the nerve to think about it again. There’s still no quad axel, but Keith is curled beside him with Four Continents' gold around his throat, snoring quietly in his ear the way he does when he leaves everything on the ice. It delays his own slide into sleep, but Shiro only tucks him closer under his arm and runs his fingers through the shower-damp hair at his crown. To the backing track of the hotel clock and Keith’s breathing, he lets his mind wander to his novices' drills. Maybe he can convince Keith to come in early for the before-school class to run through some advanced spins. It’s a guarantee that he will protest the early start so soon after arriving home, but Shiro knows he has a soft spot for the younger skaters, no matter how out of place he claims to be. The kids love him too, and Shiro knows they treat it as a rare delight when Keith carves out time in his crazy schedule to join them.

An idea comes to him then in the dead of the night, making his fingers pause. Keith grumbles in his sleep and wriggles closer, burying his nose into Shiro's neck. Shiro huffs a quiet protest. Keith is a human furnace and he already feels a million degrees even with the blanket half kicked off. But then the snoring starts up again and he just doesn't have the heart to nudge Keith away. He settles again and falls asleep to the beginnings of a new plan.

* * *

Weeks later, he's absorbed in workpad scribbles, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, when someone plucks out one of his earphones and he almost jumps clean off the couch.

“Jesus, Keith. I thought you were at the studio this afternoon.”

“Sorry.” He doesn't look terribly apologetic with a flash of teeth and bright eyes as Shiro scrambles to pause his music. “And I was. It's almost six. I brought home pizza because I was hungry and my coach wasn't there to tell me no.”

Shiro knows if he was a better manager, he'd remind Keith of the importance of nutrition, even toward the end of the season. But instead he laughs as Keith vaults the back of the couch, pizza box in hand. He's a little panicked to hear he has lost the entire afternoon though, with virtually no progress to show for it. He crumples the page in front of him and tosses it. This song isn't right either.

“Choreography?” Keith asks around a slice of pepperoni as he sneaks his feet onto Shiro's lap and lounges back against the armrest. “For the novices?”

Shiro nods as he reaches for his own piece. It's not quite the truth, but it's close enough.  
“Just floating some ideas early so there’s less to do over summer. I'll put it down now you're home.”

Keith shrugs.  
“It's fine. I don't want to get you out of the zone. I was thinking of reading up some stuff for the MCAT anyway.”

It seems dangerous to continue with his task when Keith is barely two feet away, but perhaps it's more suspicious to insist on his company instead.  
“You're okay with me being plugged in like this tonight?”

“I need a quiet night,” Keith replies honestly. “I'm happy to sit in your company and do my own thing.”

Shiro smiles, because he understands. Sometimes it's enough to just be in each other's orbit. There's no need to force a conversation when there's none to be had and there's a comfort in doing separate things together. He makes sure to let Keith know that he'll make himself available if he changes his mind, then hits play on his phone again.

He frowns at his notes as he scribbles, but he's still having no luck. Nothing feels right. Maybe he's being too critical. He's only absently aware when Keith gets up to toss the empty pizza box and returns with an anatomy textbook. This time, he tucks his feet under himself instead of over Shiro's thighs and absorbs himself in his study. It helps Shiro focus a little better too.

Shiro cycles through what feels like a million different songs before it finally feels like something might be clicking. He hits the repeat button and starts mapping out movements on a fresh page. He's on his fourth or fifth replay when a soft, raspy voice starts singing along with Frankie Valli.

“ _I love you baby, and if it's quite alright I need you baby…_ ”

Shiro startles, looking up to where Keith is flashing a grin over his book.

“ _Trust in me when I say…_ ”

Shiro figures he must look dumbfounded as he pulls out his earphones, because Keith dissolves into giggles that he tries to muffle in his page.

“You were humming.”

_Shit._

“It's fine. I don't mind,” he assures as he puts down his book. “It’s actually… really adorable.”

Shiro can feel heat rush down his neck in a mild panic.  
“You should ditch med school and become a pop star,” he says, trying to reclaim the situation.

Keith wrinkles his nose.  
“You're a far better singer than me.”

Shiro wholeheartedly disagrees. There’s a beautiful breathy edge to Keith’s voice that flows like warm honey and fills in the spaces in his chest. He doesn't hear it too often - Keith isn't prone to silly habits of singing in the shower or over the stove like Shiro - so it's so much more precious when it does come out.

“ _Can't Take My Eyes Off of You_ though? You're the oldest 29-year old I know.”

And the moment fizzles out. Shiro screws up the piece of paper in front of him and throws it with more force than necessary to the rest of the pile.

“Oh, Takashi…”  
Keith sounds like he's trying to backpedal, but he's ruining it with the laugh he can't quite keep out of his voice.  
“I didn't mean it. You can make the novices dance to as much old people music as you like.”

Shiro knows he's pouting now, but he feels frustrated. He finally felt like he was getting somewhere, but then his stupid subconscious had to ruin it in spite of him. He yelps in surprised protest when his workpad is tossed away and he suddenly has a lapful of Keith, who can't be feeling too bad about ruining his choreography, given the grin on his face.

“ _You're just too good to be true…_ ”  
He removes Shiro’s glasses and dips down to press a soft kiss to the left corner of his downturned mouth.  
“ _Can't take my eyes off of you._ ”  
Another kiss to the opposite side.  
“ _You'd be like heaven to touch…_ ”  
Hands press against his ribs. It's getting harder to keep scowling at the wall when Keith leans in a little closer.  
“ _I wanna hold you so much_.”

And Shiro is weak, so weak. It's impossible for him to even pretend to be upset to milk the moment a little more. Keith looks like the cat who caught the canary when Shiro flips him onto his back on the couch.

“You are going to be the absolute death of me. You know that, right?”

Keith has the audacity to smirk as he wriggles so Shiro can lie between his hips. He takes a deep breath, as if about to break into a dramatic rendition of the chorus. Shiro shuts him up with a kiss.

* * *

Keith is the first to notice when they all go to dinner before the start of competitions at Worlds.

“Is it just me, or do Lotor and Allura seem a little… cozier than usual?”

It's been the eternal question, even as juniors when Shiro was still skating at Iverson’s rink. Will they or won't they? Shiro was fairly sure there had always been a spark there. And the way Lotor called Allura “princess” didn't quite seem completely rooted in sarcasm and tease. But no matter the public speculation and media questions, the pair had always remained coy. The affection they showed for each other never seemed to stray into something definitive. While their bond was obvious, it had never been obviously romantic. The din of the other skaters that have joined them and the animated chatter between Lance and Pidge is enough to cover their own conversation, but Shiro still disguises his response by leaning in close to tuck Keith's hair behind his ear.

“What do you mean?”

Keith shuffles in his chair to continue the act by turning his face to kiss him lightly.  
“Look at them. It's subtle.”

Shiro glances over Keith's shoulder where Lotor and Allura share a menu across the table.

“The way Lotor is angled toward her? I'm pretty sure he hasn't looked at that menu once yet. He's just been watching Allura while she makes up her mind. Also, riddle me this? Where is her other hand?”

Keith brings up a good point. The menu is in the way, perhaps purposefully, but from his seat it seems that Allura has a hand on Lotor's knee under the table.

“No,” Shiro breathes in a scandalised tone.

Keith grins, covers them with another kiss, before settling back into his seat to read his menu nonchalantly. Shiro feels a little smug about their undercover detective work, which has gone completely unnoticed by the rest of the group. Or at least, so he thinks, until Allura raises an eyebrow at him. He bites back a hiss as Keith stomps on his foot under the table, then feels his face heat up when he realises he's been staring.

“Something on you mind, Shiro?” Allura asks pleasantly. It sounds dangerous.

Keith’s sigh beside him sounds longsuffering. Perhaps rightly so. Shiro is realising he's definitely the weak link in this detective duo.

“N-no,” he stammers.  
He quickly grabs the wine list.  
“Just wondering what would pair well with the salmon.”

“Oh Takashi…”  
Keith sounds pitying.

Lotor looks unruffled, lowering their menu.  
“Perhaps we should come clean, princess,” he says, amused.

Shiro tries not to squirm under Allura’s contemplative gaze. She holds him for a moment, and to his left, Pidge and the other skaters go silent.

“Very well,” she decides, holding a gloved hand - the one subject to Keith’s earlier scrutiny - out to Lotor. “If you would do the honours then.”

“As you wish.”

Shiro _feels_ Keith roll his eyes beside him. He doesn't blame him. He'd honestly forgotten how… articulate the two were around each other. Lotor reaches for her glove, plucking gently at the fingers. He peels it away and brings the hand up to his lips to kiss. It takes Shiro by surprise. But not nearly as much as the mindbogglingly large diamond on Allura’s finger.

“Surprise!”

There's a moment of stillness, then the entire table erupts. Lance and Keith shout at the same time. Shiro starts laughing in disbelief and the other skaters pile on their congratulations over the top of each other. There's a nasty little voice that reminds him this should be him, but it's quashed by the overwhelming joy he feels for his friends. Shiro holds out his hand and Allura offers hers to him. Keith crawls into his lap to intercept.

“Jesus, Lotor. Which royal family did you steal this from?”

“Ha ha,” Lotor replies dryly, sliding an arm around Allura’s shoulders. “If you're feeling envious, just remember you're the one who turned me down, sweetheart.”

Allura laughs, but Shiro hears every system alert go off in his brain.   
“Excuse me, what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Keith insists, not sparing him a glance over his shoulder.

“Before your time, I can assure,” Lotor chimes in with a shit-eating grin.

Shiro can't tell if he's joking or not, but he wraps a possessive arm around Keith's waist with a frown. The idea of Lotor… and Keith. No, he absolutely will not picture it. It's definitely not going to play out over in his mind again and again until he goes insane with it. And he refuses to let himself have thoughts of wicked lips against his lover’s skin that will keep him up all night. He tightens his grip when Keith finishes his examination of the ring and tries to scooch back into his seat. He's met with a raised brow, but then Keith leans back against his chest and noses at the side of his undercut.

“Hey. Okay there?”

Shiro just readjusts his grip as he shifts in his seat. He can feel Keith grinning by his ear.

“Jealousy is a curse... sweetheart.”

And Shiro growls quietly at that. Suddenly he's frustrated that competitions start in the next 48 hours, because he would love nothing more than to take Keith upstairs and rail him into the headboard until he starts babbling his name and telling him he is his alone. The coach in him tries to talk the green-eyed monster down by reasoning that Keith needs to be capable of walking straight if he's going to put up any kind of medal-winning skate. It wins out. Just.

“Where do you think I learned to--?”

“Keith, never finish that sentence. I'm begging you.” 

* * *

Another season ends, but it's okay, because Shiro has a plan.

“Does everyone know what they're doing?”  
He gets eight enthusiastic nods back.  
"Remember, no one's grading you on this. Just have fun.”

Easy enough for him to tell the kids. Harder to put into practice. Shiro takes off his glasses for a moment to rub at his eyes and ground himself. His heart is already at risk of flying straight through his chest like a snapped rubber band. They haven't even started yet.

“Don't be nervous, Shiro,” one of the girls say. And oh god, how bad must he look if an eleven year old is trying to comfort him? “We've got your back!”

Shiro does relax, infinitesimally.  
“I know. I've got my best team on the job.”  
He hears Hunk give an obvious cough and the hockey squad starts leaving the ice. That's his cue. He glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, Keith has arrived and is lacing up his skates. He pushes the thick-rimmed frames back on his face.  
“Just like we practiced, okay?”  
He turns back to where Keith is standing up from the benches and steels himself.  
“Keith,” he sees his head snap up to find him, “could you grab my phone? We’re going to start running through with music over here.”

“Outside pocket?” Keith calls back, already rummaging through his duffel bag by rinkside.

“Left side.”

Keith nods, making his way out to him on the other side of the ice once he locates the device. He doesn't seem to notice that everyone else is filing out.

“Thanks baby,” Shiro smiles as he hands it over. He goes to move away, but Shiro catches his hand.

“I know you want to warm up early, but I could really use an extra set of eyes?”

Keith pauses, and Shiro knows he's only pretending to consider, but it still makes his pulse frantic.  
“I guess I can wait a few minutes. But only if we work with the jump harness today.”

Shiro almost groans. It's one thing to work the harness with the novices as they learn their triples, another when 135 pounds of quick-moving skating champion is on the other end of the line, hellbent on jumping quad axels in time for the Olympics.

“Fine. Deal.”  
He swoops to kiss him, then places two hands on his shoulders to adjust him slightly.  
“Stay here.”

He doesn't wait to see Keith’s expression. Surprise? Confusion? Suspicion? Shiro is pretty sure any twitch would make him crumble right now. He links his phone to the rink's overhead speakers and places it down on the barrier. He takes one last breath, adjusting his glasses out of nervous habit, then hits play.

The opening riff of _I Believe in a Thing Called Love_ by The Darkness rings out clear and loud over the sound system. Shiro hears the scrape of the novices’ skates on the ice behind him, turning to see them circling Keith just as scripted. There’s a bewildered look on his face and the kids are doing a good job of holding his attention. They form a block between him and where Shiro has pushed off from the boards, peeling off so their view of each other is unobstructed for the vocal cut in.

_Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel._

Keith blinks at him, still not quite comprehending what is going on as Shiro channels his inner dramatic rock god and points to him. Shiro feels the hands of his novices on his back as they push him forward and he overacts the motion of driving.

_My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel._

Shiro grins as a burst of baffled laughter leaves Keith’s lips. Thankfully, he seems too shocked to have considered moving. By now, Shiro knows it's got to be pretty apparent that the performance is not for one of the novices’ programs. Hopefully he won’t piece it all together just yet though.

The boys in his group peel off for the first line of the bridge, the girls follow them for the second. As the music winds up to the chorus, Shiro pretends to scramble to the centre of the line up in front of Keith. He glances to the novices either side of him, before they break into synchronised choreography on their skates. He tries not to laugh as he remembers the first time he had shown these moves to his class. He had dug deep for the dorkiest routine fathomable, something that belonged in a video compilation of World’s Most Shameful dance moves. The groans of the kids and their complaints of secondhand embarrassment had been enough to strengthen his faith in the entire routine back then. He hears Keith clearly say “what the hell?” as their audience cheers from the benches. The kids start giggling and Shiro is helpless to join them. It's clear they're having fun with it, and the last of his nerves evaporate entirely.

The novices break off to circle Keith once as the chorus ends and Shiro skates forward to him to take hold of his hips.

_I want to kiss you every minute, every hour, every day._

“What is goin--"

Shiro cuts off his question with a kiss, delighting in the frustration on his face as he skates backward toward the boards again, unzipping his training jacket, and the novices drop into sit spins around them.

_You got me in a spin but everything is A.OK!_

“Cheesy!” Keith calls after him as the kids stand for the bridge.

Shiro presses a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, winking with confidence that he doesn't fully feel yet. He removes his glasses to toss them away.

_Touching you…_

He peels away his jacket to wolf-whistles, revealing the black tank underneath, while the novices cross over in front of him to jump double toes.

_Touching me…_

The novices are giggling again, knowing what's coming next. Beyond Keith, in the stands, Shiro can see Lance jumping up and down, clearly filming the entire thing on the phone he holds. God knows why he let him convince him this part was a good idea...

_Touching you, God you're touching me!_

Sacrificing the last of his dignity to the universe, Shiro hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and yanks. He can hear Lance scream over the top of all the other cheers and catcalls from the peanut gallery as the sweatpants reveal themselves as tearaways covering a pair of obscenely tight leather leggings beneath. Keith's eyes go as wide as saucers, he flushes, then buries his face in his hands in clear embarrassment.

“Eyes up, Kogane,” Shiro yells with a grin as he balls up his sweatpants and lobs them at him to land on his shoulder. The kids line up next to him again to rehash the chorus choreography, but they're barely keeping upright in their hysterics. Keith watches through his fingers and Shiro makes sure to exaggerate his hip movements this time around.

“God…” he only just hears Keith choke out over the music.

He dives forward with the novices as a group and they all slide onto their knees for the guitar solo. Shiro thinks some of the boys are trying to outdo him on his air guitar and he starts laughing again.

“Oi, less headbanging,” he calls out to the student on his immediate left. “I'm supposed to be the lead here!”

“Lead idiot!” Keith interjects.

Shiro grins, jumping to his feet and rushing at Keith to grab him around the waist and spin him around. He plucks the discarded pants off of his shoulder and tosses them away properly.

“I'm so fucking confused right now,” Keith tells him as he takes his hand.

“Good!”

He twirls him around, re-positioning him so he’s turned to face the benches now in the centre of the rink.

“Shiro?!”

But he just releases him as the bridge comes in one last time. The novices obscure his view and make sure Keith stays in place by cutting in front of him in pairs for simple lifts as Shiro races back to the gate. Hunk is waiting for him there, sliding a small box into his hand that he quickly tucks into the back of the waistband of his leggings. The nerves return with full force then, and the bridge gives way to the final chorus as the novices part into two columns and he looks straight at Keith.

The novices start clapping in time with the music, and Shiro can hear the audience they've amassed join in behind him. He takes a deep breath, feeling Hunk and the rest of the hockey squad patting his back in encouragement.

 _I believe in a thing called love,_ _  
_ _Just listen to the rhythm of my heart._

Assuming this hasn't been one big fever dream up until this moment, he's actually managed to reach the pointy end of this whole gesture. He pushes forward off the boards with static in his veins.

 _There's a chance we could make it now,_ _  
_ _We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down._

He picks up the pace to make it out to Keith, sinking down in a one-knee slide toward him.

_I believe in a thing called love! Ooh!_

He sees a dawn of realisation reflected to him in violet-blue as the guitar outro starts and he reaches behind him for the ringbox, hears the hitch in Keith’s breath as he opens it up before him. Now or never.

“Keith…”

* * *

It's so cheesy. It's so fucking cheesy, and sweet, and over the top, and so stupidly _him_.

Electric guitars start playing him out when he says his name, but Keith can't wait that long.

“Yes!”

Shiro's eyes go wide.  
“I haven't even asked yet.”

“Fine. Ask me.”

“Keith Kogane, will you--"

“Of course I will, you fucking idiot.”

Shiro looks unbalanced on his knee all of a sudden.  
“... I have a whole speech planned.”

“Tell me after you give me that ring then.”

Shiro laughs, and Keith thinks he can hear disbelief in the sound, almost as if he expected to have to convince him with whatever words he had prepared. The second he places the ring on his finger, Keith hauls him up to his feet to kiss him bruisingly. He can hear the rink cheering over the music.

“So, what was it you were going to say?” he asks when they pull away, breathless.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. That you're the fire in my soul and the piece I never knew I was missing. How every morning I wake up and see you next to me and I have to convince myself I'm not still dreaming. And how whenever I think about the future, you're front and center in every scenario.”

He takes his hand, kissing the band there as the music fades.  
“I was going to tell you how much I love you, how I'm going to tell you every day, and how I want the world to know you're mine.”

“Sounds really sappy. It's good proposal material.”

“That was definitely the angle I was driving at.”

Keith laughs, glancing to the crowd gathered by the boards. Someone has connected their music up so a new song blasts through the speakers. Probably Lance. He doesn't bother to try to figure out what it is. 

“I can't believe you roped the novices into this. Nice air guitar by the way. Very Tatsuki Machida circa 2012.”

Shiro snorts. “What can I say? My countrymen are an inspiration.”

He presses his forehead to his, panting a little from what Keith can only guess is a combination of exertion and nerves-induced adrenaline.  
“And the novices were very excited to be involved. Heads up though, they're all expecting wedding invites. Also it wasn't just them that helped. Hunk and Montgomery made some scheduling changes to the rink. And as much as I hate to admit it, Lance came up with the tearaway pants idea.”

“Of course he did,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes, but it's with a smile that he can't smooth away from his lips.

He looks down to the hand Shiro holds, where he's thumbing the band on his finger. It's gold, of course. Shiro has made it clear in no uncertain terms that it's his favourite colour on his skin. Black diamonds circle it through the centre in a line set deep into the metal. It's beautiful, without being too showy. There's a smug satisfaction in realising Shiro knows him well enough to nail it perfectly.

“I was starting to think you didn't want this,” he muses.

When he’s met with silence, he looks up and there's an expression of dumbfounded disbelief on Shiro's face. He rushes to explain himself.  
“I mean, in Tokyo, you couldn't get far away enough from that proposal we saw at Disneyland. And we never talked about getting married. After Lotor and Allura, I thought you might bring it up but--”

“You didn't bring it up either!” Shiro defends in an exasperated tone.

Okay, maybe that's technically true, but Shiro always seems to know the inner workings of his mind better than anyone else. _Maybe_ he hadn't so much as spoken a word on his thoughts on marriage or how he felt about the formality of commitment or if his upbringing had impacted his views, but…

Keith groans and lets his forehead fall on Shiro's shoulder.  
“Okay, well for the record, I feel extremely favourable. About marriage. With you.”

Shiro laughs and raises a hand to sink his fingers into his hair.  
“Well, good. I'm glad to know. Though I probably could have done with that knowledge a while ago.”

Keith huffs into his collarbone, but goes easy when Shiro pulls gently on his hair to meet him in another kiss.  
“Wait,” he says suddenly, gripping the neckline of Shiro’s tank to push against his chest. “How long is a while ago?”

Shiro flushes cherry red all the way to his collarbone and mumbles something inaudible. It's equal parts adorable and terribly concerning.

“Shiro…”  
Keith raises an eyebrow and watches Shiro’s throat bob. He avoids Keith’s eyes in favour of continuing to play with his hair.

“Well… remember when you caught Katie and I having a little chat at the airport?”

“That was nearly two years ago!”

Shiro laughs nervously.

“I've only had the ring since my birthday though.”  
And that doesn't seem so bad. It's been a couple of months since March. Perhaps it means he could have beaten Lotor and Allura to the punch, but only just. No harm, no foul.  
“My 28th, that is.”

“Are you kidding me?”

It comes out louder than Keith intends, and he slaps a hand to his mouth.  
“Shiro, you are halfway to thirty.”

“God, don't remind me.”  
He's starting to recover his colour again.  
“In my defence, this isn't my first attempt.”

Keith’s grip tightens on Shiro’s tank when his skates wobble beneath him.

“It's… not?”

“Third time's the charm.”

“Third?!”

“If we don't count the time I nearly proposed to you at your graduation.”

Now he feels dizzy. The thought that this - asking him to spend the rest of their lives together - was a question that had been on Shiro’s lips for well over a year is far too much to handle.

“You're going to have to tell me about the other two later. Right now, I think I need to lie down…”

Shiro grins, stooping to pick him up into a cradle hold. Behind them, Keith can hear their rinkmates hollering.

“Shall we go home then, fiancé?”

Keith can't help but reflect the grin back, his heart full and warm in a way he can't describe. He brushes fingers over Shiro’s cheek to his neck in a tender touch, capturing him in a fiery kiss. Thoughts of practice and quad axels and the season ahead have been long forgotten in favour of soft grey eyes and the pulse jumping under the band on his finger.

“Ready when you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I can finally say, here we are. 
> 
> I never could have guessed that one little story written four red wines into the Easter long weekend (and I have the notes to prove it was only meant to be a oneshot!) would lead to this series. I've had a lot of fun writing this and it's a little sad to think it's all over now. ~~Or at least until I have another boozy weekend and come crawling back to this AU like a clingy ex-lover.~~
> 
> I hope you caught the throwback between this final line and the final line to Prelude by the way!
> 
> You wouldn't believe how long I agonised over Shiro’s song choice, but The Darkness was a surprise left of field decision after trying to decide between 4 completely different songs. Just in case your ears haven't been blessed by these tunes, links to the songs used in this final chapter are below.
> 
> [Can't Take My Eyes Off of You - Frankie Valli](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcJm1pOswfM)  
> [I Believe in a Thing Called Love - The Darkness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKjZuykKY1I)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments across this whole fic. I truly didn't expect anyone outside a handful of people on my tumblr (which you can find [here](copilotsheith.tumblr.com)) to even ever come across this, but it's been such a joy to meet so many new people along the way. Thank you thank you thank you!


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